


Seven Hot Dogs

by abe



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Forgive Me, M/M, also there is some implied sexual content so i changed the rating just in case, this fic turned out to be something i didnt Even PLAN for it to be, this is a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abe/pseuds/abe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of how the smell of Sebastian's cologne chased off everyone except Joseph.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Hot Dogs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [molii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/molii/gifts).



> huehuhehuehuehue so this is my first joseb work... im sorry joseb enthusiasts and tew extraordinaires bc this mess is probably riddled with bad characterization and God Knows What Else... the ending is a bit rushed bc i just wanted No More of it so im sorry... please be kind to me this is the first time ive attempted to write these old men... ANYWAY this fic is for my very dear friend molii !!! so happy (late) birthday to u !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! u are incredibly special to me and i hope u had a super day so as thanks to being so wonderful i attempted some joseb for u so i hope u enjoy ! to anyone else reading it lmao i Also hope u enjoy... it's been a while since ive tried to write anything so hopefully this didnt turn out Too Bad... ;-;

His cologne sticks to him like the smoke of an early morning cigarette. Strong and distant, the dull intensity lingers within empty sheets, his hand wavering over the bends in the fabric only the company of someone else could make. It had a certain bitterness that made his nose wrinkle, the staunch presence older men used to bolster their pride—it was something he loathed, yet couldn’t forget.

“It’ll never work on anyone,” he concluded one night in a huff of disdain and roll of his eyes.

“Well,” Sebastian smirked, all-knowingly and unnervingly smooth, “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

He never questioned it again.

But he hates the smell more when he’s not around because its familiarity mocks him, singing the song of a man who once was, but never is—around, near him, close enough to grab and remind him that he’s not breathing in a ghost. The reminder is grim when he finds the bed empty the next morning, leaving him questioning, worrying, but always forgetting. He finds no reason in prodding because Sebastian lays a new brick down for each doubt he sways, his walls bearing the brunt of Joseph’s force like a ship facing off against a brewing storm. And he knows this—Joseph knows a lot of things.

He knows Sebastian will leave his shoes in front of the door no matter how many times he’s tripped over them coming home late from work. He knows he can’t cook, but still tries. He knows he’ll eat his toast burnt and eggs scrambled while he takes his coffee black, like his heart, he reminded Joseph one morning with a malicious laugh to follow. He knows his singing is just as atrocious as his brand of shitty cigarettes and he knows he’ll never fail to deliver his rendition of ACDC’s “Highway to Hell” in the shower via a whistle he’s taken years to perfect. Joseph knows all these things—all these unimportant, trivial things—but what does that prove? What does he really know about Sebastian Castellanos?

Nothing, he settles with as he slips into a white t-shirt flung across the bathroom floor. Probably Sebastian’s—it reeks of him.

Something tells him today is a special day, but Joseph can’t find anything overwhelmingly noteworthy about it other than it being the third day of his partner’s absence. Not entirely, Sebastian would argue, though he hardly finds arriving late with Chinese takeout something to write home to his parents about—and frankly, Joseph wouldn’t find anything suspicious about it if he didn’t already know how much Sebastian hates takeout. Something about the fortune cookies, he remembers, but Joseph has always chosen to agree to disagree. He tries to shake the thought, but it’s consistent, consistent enough to become an ache in the back of his head to match the dull thump of his heart.

He reminds himself how he hates these skeptical notions as of late while he trudges groggily into the kitchen, as they contradict his steadfast nature—of which he has been commended for in the past, mostly by Sebastian, despite Joseph’s humble denial. He hates second-guessing his partner, he’s found, and he hates acting like the mother of a disobedient son when he steps out of line—no matter how good he claims to now be—because he’s only been faced with contempt, disagreement, and some other toxic feeling that reminds him of guilt. He’s learned from his past actions—actions as if he’s still not sure whether or not he was blindly mistaken—believing them to be the best solution for such outstanding circumstances. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he made a face, disgusted—oh, how he hated such negative thoughts this early in the morning. What a drag. This confusion was exhausting.

As he popped a piece of bread into the nearby toaster, Joseph couldn’t help but find it funny, shockingly hilarious, how he found himself fretting over someone that he didn’t even know what to classify their relationship as. He wasn’t sure how far the term “partners” applied and couldn’t bring himself to take kindly to the idea of only being good enough for a decent fuck now and again—if anything, he’d like to think Sebastian cherished their time in the bedroom more than that—but he knew the older man wasn’t one for labels and part of Joseph liked it like that. Part of him delved in the freedom it possessed, despite knowing it was something more. It had to be, otherwise there’d be no reason for Sebastian to accept his offer to move in with him so easily. He sighed—again, exhausting.

With a groan, he dumped a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, gradually adding one more, deciding three was enough afterwards as he stirred in the last one. There was a glint of sunrise forcing itself through cracked blinds, illuminating a stack of dishes topped with a pair of chopsticks he didn’t remember ever having. He almost laughed, taking a sip from his mug, that foolish partner of his. Nowhere to be found, and yet Joseph still finds his lips brimming with a smile, even a small one. Sebastian had a certain charm about him, and he appreciated that, because he’d joke about how it made all his other less redeeming qualities a little more bearable. Of course, Joseph would always get a gleam of displeasure from those sharp eyes of his—the ones that flickered a glimmer of hope but remained too dark to hide behind. They were hauntingly beautiful, and distractingly so, but they’ve learned to laugh about it. Joseph likes it when he laughs.

Ruffling his hair unsatisfied, he realizes that he’s alone for the rest of the day, taking his leave to the bedroom once more with coffee in hand. The apartment creaked more when he was alone, each step on the wood floors released a groan of discontent, the walls aching and shuddering with every shallow breath he took.  Despite it being morning, the majority of the blinds were pulled closed, canvasing the small residence in a shroud of darkness he could only wince at. Joseph spotted the rip in the curtains dangling behind the couch, an embarrassing reminder of a night of ludicrous events and savory sensual moments—Sebastian would often remind him to get it fixed, but he’d merely shrug saying that it’d only happen again. Sebastian was usually right about a lot of things, but what fun would it be if he knew that?

Strands of sunlight peered in through an open bedroom window, a gentle morning breeze tickling his skin as he pulled himself back under jumbled sheets, setting his mug and glasses on the nightstand beside him. Turning on his side, he remembers how much he dislikes having days off because with so much to do, he usually finds himself doing nothing—an utter waste of a day, he would bitterly remind himself. But the persistent ache in the back of his head claims differently, prompting the idea that he took if off for a reason, a reason that appeared to have been loss through his consistent worrying. Perhaps it was his age finally getting to him, though he could hear Sebastian goading him for having such thoughts, so he instantly did away with them.

He really hated when Sebastian was right.

* * *

Part of him believes he wasn’t alone after he fell asleep, and part of him believes he was merely dreaming. There had been on ominous presence floating around the room, but it hadn’t been threatening enough to stir him. But he hated the feeling of being vulnerable and helpless because it reminded him of the times Sebastian had protected him, had put his life on the line for him, regardless of what problems Joseph had caused him—and that feeling alone was enough to wake him. Eyes flared open wildly as he reached for his glasses out of instinct, a shaky hand coddling his chest to calm his unsteady breathing. He notices the bathroom door is now closed, which consequently sent all the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up on end, and he would have fumbled around for his gun if it wasn’t until a fervent stench of man came wafting in from around the corner to miraculously soothe him.

Shoving himself from the bed, Joseph feverishly made his way over to the bedroom door, taking one step outside before—much to his surprise—he found his partner sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee from the same mug he was using earlier. He must have appeared dumbfounded because Sebastian did nothing but laugh, one deep and loud enough that nearly woke him up, leaving him a bit stunned in the aftermath of the day. What in the hell was going on?

“It’s 7 o’clock at night—” Joseph managed, almost in irritation as he realized how long he had slept while his eyes adjusted to read the clock hanging in the kitchen. He found himself near the other man now, hand resting on the opposite chair, eyes practically glaring at him impatiently.

“So?” Sebastian shrugged, taking another sip from the cup.

“And you’re drinking coffee?”

“Sure am.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

This was like talking to a child. Joseph simply rolled his eyes, scratching his head, annoyed.

“Did you by chance go into the bedroom while I was sleeping?” he asked eventually, noticing the piece of bread jutting from the toaster on the far kitchen counter. _Shit._ Must have forgotten about that too.

“Of course I did,” his partner grumbled, overdramatically at that, Joseph’s attention now peaking, “I had to go find my favorite mug.” He watched as Sebastian waved has hand in front of the cup, clearly pointing to how it read “World’s Greatest Dad” in bold, black lettering he had obviously missed. Joseph would have felt bad if he wasn’t acting as if finding the mug was the biggest feat he had ever endured. “Guess you forgot how to read along with—”

“Along with what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, _clearly_ there’s something, Seb.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you once you get dressed then. Can’t take you out with you looking like _that_.”

In a huff, Joseph left him to his beloved mug, storming back into the bedroom in bitter defeat. His hand reached for the doorknob on the bathroom door, twisting it to only hear something fall to floor behind. Pushing it open, he came to find a suit he’d never seen before, which he found to be oddly, yet carefully ironed to the point where the creases on the pants could have taught advanced math. Baffled and confused, Joseph reached for it, stringing it up by the hanger in his hand, as he spotted something extending from outside jacket pocket. He flicked the light on, only to discover it was a red rose with a note delicately attached to it. Reaching for it, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was some dastardly ploy to have him—

_Happy birthday, Joseph. Here’s to wishing you a good day. –Sebastian_

He could hear Sebastian laughing all the way from the kitchen. 


End file.
